


what's left

by mettaverse



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-27 23:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15035717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mettaverse/pseuds/mettaverse
Summary: “Today's the day, right? Doctor Holt's been working on this for months-we'vebeen working on this for months. The cure will be distributed today and no one will ever go through what you went through.”"Or you.” He grazes the scar slashed across his nose- a reminder of how violent the Infected can become. Shiro smiles and takes Lance's hand, kisses the palm and holds it to his face. “You're right. Today Sam's gonna light this baby up and it's gonna distribute the shit out of some magic cure-”“Scientificcure-”“Isn't that what I said? The big nasal spray is gonna poof up science in the air and bam! All fixed. No problem. No big deal.”Shiro laughs, full and loud, before leaning in and pressing their foreheads together. “All fixed. No problem. No big deal."Lance and Shiro are going to save the world.Well, they were supposed to.





	what's left

**Author's Note:**

> hi all! this is for the shance kiss me zine that i'm very grateful to be in!! my kiss was "end of the world kiss" so! enjoy!

Lance must've gained 10 pounds of muscle thanks to the Shroud.

It sits in the middle of main street, rising above them all- to see the end of it would mean blinding your eyes, looking so close to the sun. It keeps a dutiful eye on the remaining human population. Reminds them that the Shroud is their savior, their redemption.Sam had seen a broken down water tower and decided to rip it apart and rearrange it into something better, something- terrifying, honestly. 

There's something unsettling about a structure this size. The people look like ants from here, the gravestones on the rise of Mourner's Hill colorful speckles dusting the wilted grass. It feels like they're giants. It makes him almost forget he's human. That he's apart of the city under his feet. But, hey.

At least it gives Lance a killer date spot.

“ _Lance._ Don't put _peanut butter_ on the Shroud- Lance!”

Lance grins and licks his fingers. “I painted this baby white. Now I'm feelin' like it should be Skippy Peanut Butter brown.” 

Shiro frowns at him and leans over to snatch the jar away. “I _swear,_ I'll drop this. The last jar of peanut butter will be gone thanks to you.”

From up so high, the sunrise breathes against Shiro's face, runs into the hollows of his eyes. It's nicer, that way. Makes him forget how bruised they are. How tired Shiro is.“You know the whole test about dropping a penny from a skyscraper? You're dropping a precious bomb made of the most valuable stuff in the world on the last of mankind. It'll explode. People will die. Are you ready to live with that, Takashi Shirogane?”

Shrio snorts. “Me? That'll be on me? No way. You pushed me to extremities, Lance. This is all on you.”

“I push you to do a lot of things, huh, Mister Responsible?” Lance waggles his eyebrows before being lightly pushed on the shoulder. He laughs. “Hey, it's true! When I met you, you were all stoic and broody and, 'Lance, don't do that! No, not that either!'” Lance inches closer and puts his head on Shiro's shoulder, relishing the way Shiro wraps his arm around him. “Sounded like my _dad.”_

Shiro's laugh shakes Lance, makes him warm all over. “Your dad sounds like a smart guy.” When Lance doesn't answer Shiro kisses the top of his head and murmurs, “You see them?”

Lance hums and points to a speck in the distance taller than the others; deep, bold indigo. “That's ma.” He points to the headstone next to it, a burning red against the rising sun. “That's dad.” Shiro hums this time, deeper, like a cat purring. “They would've liked you.”

Maybe, in another life, he would've taken Shiro by the hand and led him to the graves. Sat him down on the grass like they did in the movies. And Shiro would've been great about it, he would've been perfect, sitting across from their headstones, speaking in formal but kind tones- like a son in law. And they would've cried and laughed, as if the bodies underneath their feet were warm and just sleeping. The grass would grow cold from the dying light and they'd leave stronger, better, with his parent's blessing.

But it's not another life. The grass is wilted and crunches under their feet, gray corpses replacing the bodies that were burnt during the outbreak. What's the point of going to a graveyard with no bodies? What's the point of laying in the grass and talking with lumps of painted scrap metal when their bodies were dragged off and thrown on a barge to the sea? It should've been easier, not seeing the bonfires, not feeling the warmth of the flames as they ate his parents whole. It should've been better, knowing his parents were cremated out on a boat in the middle of their favorite sea.

But the air doesn't smell like sea salt anymore. It smells like rot and smoke and defecation. He swallows and breathes through his mouth. 

“Hey.” Lance glances up at Shiro- pensive, but those hard lines are softened for him. It makes his skin tingle from something other than sunrise. “Today's the day, right? Doctor Holt's been working on this for months- _we've_ been working on this for months. The cure will be distributed today and no one will ever go through what you went through.”

Lance pulls away just to look at Shiro's face. His eyes are the one thing that hasn't changed- deep gray boring into him, like mist on waters. “Or you.” He grazes the scar slashed across his nose- a reminder of how violent the Infected can become. Shiro smiles and takes Lance's hand, kisses the palm and holds it to his face. “You're right. Today Sam's gonna light this baby up and it's gonna distribute the shit out of some magic cure-”

“ _Scientific_ cure-”

“Isn't that what I said? The big nasal spray is gonna poof up _science_ in the air and bam! All fixed. No problem. No big deal.”

Shiro laughs, full and loud, before leaning in and pressing their foreheads together. “All fixed. No problem. No big deal.” He leans in and pressed their lips together, and Lance relishes it- sunsets got old, the smell of corpses neutralized, and his scars forgotten- but kissing Shiro _burns_ every single time.

—————————————————————————————————————————-

Shiro sees the pair before they even hit the ground.

Rolo and Nyma stand at the base of the Shroud, surprisingly without makeshift picket signs in hand. Ever since the pair arrived at the last City standing, they protested against anything and everything. Shiro gets it, gets having a volcano wedged in between your ribs, burning you from the inside out. You have to get the fire out somehow. 

He hears Lance laugh from above him, dangling from the outside ladder with one arm. “Well look what the cat dragged in. Probably came to yell at us about supportin' the mad doctor again.”

As they get closer, though, Shiro's stomach twists and he inhales a sharp breath. “Lance. Something's wrong.”

“What, Rolo can't get it u- oh.”

Rolo's slumped against Nyma, his cheeks drooping and bruised. When he looks up at Shiro, he can see the red around Rolo's eyes, the dusting of blood across the lower half of his face. He stares unblinking, watching Shiro as a wolf watches prey. 

Nyma follows his line of sight and sighs in relief as their feet touch the ground. To her credit she stands only a little shaky against the brunt of Rolo's dead weight- she must've traveled across the city like that. He glances at her arm, sees Rolo's fingernails dug into the flesh. Blood trickles down her wrist and onto the ground. “You two need to help. Now.” 

Shiro takes a step towards Nyma, only to be stopped by Rolo's inhuman growl. He glances at him, and sees no spark of recognition in Rolo's eyes. He stands still, heart pounding. “Nyma, the cure is distributed later today-”

“He won't make it,” Lance says softly. “He's too far gone, Shiro.”

_“I know he's too far gone,”_ Nyma says through gritted teeth. “I _know-_ but your doctor, he has the cure, doesn't he? He can help. He can save him.”

While Shiro hasn't seen the cure work up close yet, he saw Sam slaving over it, night after night, an IV drip in is arm to keep from dehydrating. Two years had passed with him perfecting it, modifying it- so if Sam says the cure is done, if he says it _works_ then- “He can. He can save him.”

Before Lance can protest Shiro presses a kiss to his cheek. “I'll meet you there, okay?” Lance looks between all of them, anxious to leave Shiro alone. “You have to see Marco.” 

Lance huffs and points at Nyma. “Make sure your boyfriend doesn't eat my boyfriend.” He turns and walks deeper into the city. 

Shiro doesn't have a moment to watch him go before Nyma grabs his wrist with her free hand and yanks. “Come on, beef cake, let's get a move on.”

“Beef cake? Really?” Shiro can't force a smile. Not with Rolo's eyes on him, not with the blood trailing behind them all. _It'll be over. All of it will be._

They walk through the ruins with ease, even with Rolo pressed against Nyma's side. It was beautiful, once, this small ocean side city. Lance and Shiro would climb the apartment roofs and count how many stars they could see before racing to the bakery in the morning before the line got too long. 

The bakery is gray with ash, now, the pastries expired and cash register empty. Shiro steps over the sign sprawled in the street. “How long-”

“Two weeks. He woke up this way.”

_This way_ being the breath in between human and feral, lover and predator. He glances behind his shoulder- he's never seen an Infected hold onto someone, not this far along. But here Rolo is, unspeaking and unmoving, clinging to the last scrape of his life before it slipped away. 

Rolo's eyes are still on him, yellow and decaying. 

He quickly yanks his gaze away. “We're here.”

The lab is almost the same as it had been before the attack- tall and gray, though grayer now with soot and disrepair. The double doors are the only proof it's occupied- years of handprints on the knob had kept it clean and shining. He turns it and ushers the two inside. 

Cold air hits them all in the face. Rolo growls, tries to snap at the foe he can't see. Nyma shushes him, strokes his greasy hair. “It's okay, love,” she whispers. She looks up at the high ceilings and laughs. “Thought it'd be-”

“Scary?” He smiles at Nyma. “He's not as bad as you think.”

Shiro urges them forward. Rolo's toenails scrape against the tile the entire way down. Nyma doesn't flinch, not even once as they walk deeper into the lab. 

By the time they arrive to Sam's command station, Nyma's panting and bleeding heavily, her arm shaking with the loss of blood. “Sam,” Shiro calls.

Sam's staring at the main computer, what controls the Shroud- what comes out of it, what goes in. Numbers reflect in his glasses, stuttering and jumping across the lenses. “Sam!” 

Sam jumps and hits his head on the metal cabinets above him. “Oh! Oh, sorry, Shiro-” He rubs the top of his head, a smile on his face. “Got lost in the numbers.” He glances at Nyma and Rolo. His smile drops, just for a moment, before returning. “And who're your friends?”

Before Shiro can say anything, Nyma stumbles forward. “I'm Nyma, this is my boyfriend Rolo. We need help.”

Rolo snarls at Sam, wrapping another arm around Nyma- protecting her? Could Infected do that? But that's what it _looks_ like, with Rolo's lip curled up, eyes flashing dangerously as Sam steps forward. Sam stares unperturbed. “Final stage before becoming feral.” He tilts his head. “Very fond of you. How sweet.” 

“Listen, old man, can you help us or not-”

“You're immune.” Sam looks at her. “It's a horrible thing, to live without your beloved.” His shaky hands fiddle with the three vials dangling down his neck- “Worse than death, really.” He strokes the one Shiro knows holds Pidge's ashes, then Matt's, then his wife's. He smiles and tilts his head. “So of course I'll help you, my dear.”

Nyma _grins_ and turns to Rolo. “Hear that, love? He's gonna fix you.” She turns back to Sam, almost bouncing up and down despite the blood running down her arm. “We were wrong about you.”

Sam smiles, cracked and shaking and not at all convincing. “Most people are.” And with that he gently guides Nyma and glances behind Shiro. “Don't worry, I have this covered.” He doesn't wait for a response, just continues pushing Nyma in the direction of a wall. Once Sam gets close, he fumbles around, feeling the plaster until-

_Click._

A door slides open, silent, to reveal a small room. From Shiro's vantage point he can't see much but- is that an observation deck? Are those his tools? _Where's this been?_ Before Shiro can even take a step forward, Sam disappears with the duo and the door closes slides shut, and Shiro is left alone. 

Since when is keeping secrets something they do? He didn't know it even existed- everything Sam makes has a purpose, so what's this room? 

He's been working so hard lately on this cure- he'd been driven nearly mad when his family died, one by one. The disease works at different speeds in different people, and Sam- Sam wonders out loud when his time will come. Maybe this was a project to keep his mind off everything-

But Shiro helped the reconstruction of this lab, wrote out blueprints, found the materials himself. He knows the layout by heart, could probably walk it all in his sleep without getting lost. So why doesn't he know this door? 

He presses his ear against the door and listens.

—————————————————————————————————————————-

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bacon!” 

Marco sits up and rubs his eyes. “Stop making me miss breakfast, jerk.” For a moment, he looks _normal_ with his eyes closed. But then he opens them and the illusion is shattered.

Lance still sits next to him though. Marco's always been tiny, but the fat's shed off him in heaps- he's a pile of sticks. _Not for long._ “After this cure's been given out you'll have all the breakfast you want. Banana foster? You got it. French toast? Mhm!”

“Biscuits and gravy?”

Lance looks at him with pure disgust. “That shit's unholy and you _know_ it.” Marco laughs, hoarse and wheezing. When he smiles Lance can see the sharpened canines, the blackening tongue. “Anything you want but that, alright?” 

Marco leans against Lance and Lance wraps an arm around his shoulders. And for a moment they can pretend it's normal- sitting on the bed in their home, laughing about something stupid and inane. 

But the bedrooms are empty expect for this one. When Marco looks up his eyes are yellow, not blue. “You know, I'm not even hungry when you talk about breakfast. I'm never hungry anymore.”

“Well, that's normal for stress, especially with pain-”

“It's stopped hurting.” There's a silence between them, and Marco doesn't look away. “That's bad, isn't it.”

No pain, no hunger, red around the mouth and eyes. The sharp canines, everything like Rolo, like their parents-

Lance smiles and squeezes his little brother tight. “It's not something you'll have to worry about after today, alright? I'll come home and we'll eat as much as we want. Promise.”

When Marco smiles, it's too big to ignore the blood on his teeth.

———————————————————————————————————————

The lab is surprisingly loud compared to the rest of the city. Outside it's silent, the residents choosing to stay inside with their loved ones who survived. Or the loved ones who they don't expect to see in the morning. The clamor of the city, the roaring of cars and trains- even baby's cries. All gone for two straight years. 

But the lab? The lab is _loud,_ Sam singing while he worked, vials exploding. The lab was alive in ways the city wasn't anymore. He misses the city, misses roaming around, misses bumping into people. He misses going on dates with his boyfriend, holding hands and sneaking kisses when the crowds thinned. The lab is his safe place, now- if it weren't for Marco he'd live here, smelling like saline and chemicals all the time like Sam. 

_If it weren't for the Attack, Sam wouldn't live here, either._ He glances at the pictures taped to the walls of the lab- the Holt family through the years until the end of it. As he gets deeper the pictures become more cluttered, less precise- Pidge's baby picture overlaps with Matt's graduation; Sam's engagement photo is crammed underneath Matt showing off his first lost tooth. 

And it becomes- quiet. Lance's footsteps bounce off the walls of the lab. There's always sound here, always something bubblin' away so _why?_ “Hellooo? Anyone hoome?” He stops to listen until he hears a groan by the command station. Lance speeds up and looks around. “C'mon guys this isn't funny-”

_“Lance.”_

Lance whips his head around and gasps. “Oh _Jesus,_ Shiro.” 

Shiro's on the floor next to a door Lance has never seen, slumped, his head at an awkward angle. Lance dashes over. Up close he can see a pinprick dot on Shiro's neck, bloody and swelling. “God, who did this to you? Was it Nyma? I swear to fucking _God-”_

_“Lance,_ Lance, Sam-” Shiro fumbles, grabs Lance's collar. “Something _wrong-”_

“Nothing's wrong, Shiro.” Lance turns around. Sam stands by the command station, hunched over. For once, his hands don't shake as he typed. He catches Lance's eyes and smiles. 

Slowly, Lance stands up. “Sam. Buddy. What's going on?”

There's no sound but Sam's methodical typing, like rainfall. He breathes in. “I'm executing our work, Lance. We've all worked so _hard_ for this.”

“We have.” Lance steps forward only to be grabbed by the pants leg by Shiro. He turns around. Shiro shakes his head, nods to the gun in Sam's other hand. “Were you the one who knocked Shiro out?”

Sam hums. “I was, yes. Not easy work, I'll have you know- he's built like a truck. Had just enough of tranq to put him down for an hour.” 

“Sam,” Shiro calls out. “Whatever you're gonna do, stop. We can figure this out, there's always a solution-”

“This is the _only solution_! _”_ Sam's voice cracks. He takes a moment to heave a trembling before typing again. “You boys. Always optimists. That's what I like about you- rays of sunshine. I was like that too, once. But there's no optimism in science, only pragmatism.” 

He leans back and shakes out his hand, tired from typing. He looks back at them, smiling despite the tears in his eyes. “What needs to be done for the best of the world isn't always what's best for us.”

Shiro clambers to his feet behind Lance. “Was that what happened to Rolo and Nyma, Sam? What was best for the world?”

The door. Lance moves to look inside. “Their bodies are moved. Don't worry yourself, Lance.” Lance freezes. They were _just here,_ just a moment ago. “Oh, don't be like that. It's better this way.”

Lance's body shakes. “You said you'd _cure them-”_

“I did cure them. Both of them.”

“They came to you for _help!_ They _trusted you-_ ”

“Do you know how hard it is, Lance, to cure something? To go in and truly repair something beyond fixing?” He points to the door. “That's what the Infected are, that's what I am-”

“Is that what your family was, too?”

_“Yes!”_ Sam slams his hand against the computer, jostling it. He doesn't spare a glance. His chest heaves, sweat on his brow. “They could _not_ be saved.”

Sam stares at the button, circling it. “It's so easy, to destroy something. Creating takes work, takes effort. Parents can spend years trying for a child, spend one second to kill it.” His eyes don't leave that button, not even as his hands begin to shake. “I tried to cure it, I really did, boys. I don't quit, I never quit. But all this pain, all this misery...isn't it better to be put out of it? We have to start over. It's the only way.”

Lance takes a step forward. “There are people out there- _my brother's out there, Sam-”_

Shiro stumbled forward, holding onto his bleeding neck. “We're all that's left, Sam. If you press that button we're all gone, mankind's over.”

Sam laughs, then cries. “The Immune will be here. You'll be here.” He looks up at them, smile wobbling and broken, glasses wet with tears. “You'll take care of what's left, won't you?”

Lance opens his mouth to scream-

But Sam's finger presses down on the button.

Blood dribbles from Sam's mouth and eyes, and in the span it takes for Lance to scream, Sam hits the floor. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
